


Happy Thoughts

by katajainen



Series: Nwalin Week 2018 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Between the First and Second Wizarding War, But he has no idea (mostly), Dueling (sort of), M/M, No beta - provided as is, Nori is a Little Shit, Nwalin Week, Nwalin Week 2018, Pre-Slash, Some UST, Teenagers, This is getting way out of hand, Unexpected Backstory, War Trauma, send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: In which Nori's Patronus takes an interesting shape, and Dwalin can't cast one at all.





	Happy Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation to [the Hogwars AU ficlet I wrote back in February](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800270). The one I swore I wouldn't revisit... so much for swearing. This appears to be set some years after the end of the First Wizarding War, in the school year 1986-1987, if I got my timeline right.
> 
> Also, Nwalin Week 2018, day 2, prompt **Fox** ~~or **Ram**~~.
> 
> And you can thank Behind the Name Random Name Generator for Opeyemi Briggs.
> 
> Unbeta'd, please feel free to point out if you notice anything strange and/or I've missed a tag.

If Dwalin had had his way, he wouldn’t be in the DADA Club in the first place, but Thorin had insisted, and after all they had been through together, Dwalin had a hard time ever telling his cousin no.

‘ _Expecto patronum_ ,’ he intoned for what he felt was the twentieth time, and like all the times before it, a wisp of silvery fog drifted from the end of his wand, floated for a moment in a formless cloud, then dissipated. Next to him, Thorin’s similar attempt had started out with a vague suggestion of wings, and became more and more defined with each successful try, certainly a bird of some sort, and not a small one.

Dwalin felt a nudge at the back of his knee, then a strange prickle of magic traveling up his thigh.

‘What..?!’ He whirled around, and a silver-shimmering fox wove nimbly between his legs, its little triangular face turned up to look at him. It had three tails.

‘Oh, look how pretty it is!’ Dis squealed in delight. ‘Whose is it? It’s not yours, Dwalin, is it?’ She looked from him to the fox now sitting at his feet. As a second-year, Thorin’s little sister was technically too young to be in the club, but Dis had never taken no for an answer.

And she knew him well enough not to ask if the Patronus was his. Dwalin sighed. ‘No. I don’t know whose it is.’

‘It’s mine.’ Across the room, Nori Rison swung down from the desk he had been sitting on, looking far too pleased for his own good. He made a lazy flick with his wand, and the silvery fox disappeared.

‘That was the neatest Patronus I’ve ever seen!’ said Dis. ‘But it’s not an ordinary fox, is it?’

‘That was a _kitsune_. A trickster beast.’

Rison looked from Dis to her brother, and shrugged. ‘If you say so. It’s not like you can choose– _yours_ could be a bloody bat, for all I know. Or a vulture; with those wings it’s hard to tell.’’

Thorin bristled and took a step forward, wand still in hand. ‘That’s enough.’ Dwalin could sense the jinx at the tip of his tongue as if it was himself. Short of fuse, his cousin had always been.

‘What? You have something against carrion birds? They’re doing a useful service – think of all the things that would be left to–’

‘I said ENOUGH!’

There was a ‘ping’ as the jinx glanced off the shield charm and ricocheted harmlessly into the ceiling. Dwalin blinked and looked at Rison. The little git was _fast_. Dwalin was good with shields, and he _knew_ Thorin still outmatched him in speed most of the time.

Rison took a step forward, wand at the ready. ‘Decided to make this into a Dueling Club, Durinson? Well, I’m game if you are.’

‘Stop it, both of you!’ Dis stood between the would-be duelists, glaring at each of them in turn. ‘Nori,’ she started, pointing with her finger. ‘Shut your mouth when you’re ahead. It’s not fair to wind him up when it’s too easy. And Thorin–’ she turned to her brother– ‘Why do you have to take everything so bloody _personally_? He wasn’t doing it on purpose; he’s got no idea. It’s not his fault he’s an arse.’

‘Excuse me!’

‘Oh shut up, will you.’ Dis stuck out her chin and gave Rison an ugly look. Dwalin was amused to notice she actually had a good half an inch on the bastard, in spite of being three years younger.

‘Are you all done with being stupid now, or should I wait another ten minutes?’

And that was Opeyemi Briggs. Dwalin saw his cousin back off a step and Rison lower his wand under the club supervisor’s meaningful stare.

‘So. We still have fifteen minutes left,’ the tall seventh year went on, ‘and after this fine demonstration, I say we use the time for extra shielding practice. Pair up and take turns at attacking. No counter-jinxes – I want you to try and block your partner, not get back at them. And you two–’ she pointed at Thorin and Rison–’ find someone else to practise with, or else. Understood?’

‘Yes Ma’am,’ Rison shot back, and grinned she glared daggers at him. ‘Dibs on him instead.’ He flicked his wand in Dwalin’s direction. ‘I won’t break him. Much.’

‘You’re welcome to try.’ The words were out before Dwalin realized he was accepting the challenge. Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon. ‘You go first.’

‘How gallant of you.’

‘Try me.’

‘Oh I will, since you ask so nicely. Switch in five?’

Dwalin nodded, and barely had time to blink when Rison fired the first jinx at him. He cast a shield charm without a thought, and the spell melted into a dull purple blast against it. ‘That’s the best you can do?’

It wasn’t. For the next few minutes the two circled ever closer to one another. Dwalin kept his shield up with ease, taking little satisfaction from Rison’s increasingly frustrated attempts to jinx him. There was a reason he was good, and it wasn’t so he could get the better of annoying little twats who wasted their time pulling pranks and flouting rules just for the sake of it.

He had learned to cast shields because he had to, because he had seen people get hurt and killed, and he had learned quickly and well.

But it hadn’t been enough. They had still lost Frerin.

Precisely after five minutes, Dwalin let his shield drop and shot a jelly-legs jinx before the charm had completely dissolved. Rison fell over with a yelp, and Dwalin got two more hits in before the other managed to cast _Finite_ and get his own shield charm up. After that, the slippery little twit dodged more spells than he blocked, but after another five minutes, half his hair was a strange off-green colour and the hem of his robes was smoking.

And he was grinning wide enough to split his face. ‘My turn, Fundinul!’ he called, sending what looked like a full body-bind curse at Dwalin, who blocked it with ease. Unperturbed, Rison tried a new tactic, trying to find the edges of his shield instead, constantly moving so that Dwalin had to turn to keep him away from his back, casting a wider shield that curled to his sides – not quite _Protego Totalus_ , but good enough, and less tiring to keep up while moving at the same time.

But like he had suspected from the beginning, the Slytherin had him at speed. Dwalin swore when the spell hit his arm with the feeling like plunging through thin ice, and his wand clattered to the floor from suddenly nerveless fingers. Diving after it, he cast a hurried wandless _Protego_ , a last-resort measure, and unreliable at that, but Rison clearly wasn’t expecting it. Dwalin looked up just in time to see him fall victim to his own back-firing jinx, cursing as the spell yanked his legs up from underneath him, leaving him suspended upside-down in mid-air.

Wand retrieved, Dwalin cast a new shield with his off-hand before even thinking of unfreezing the other, just as Rison yelled ‘ _Liberacorpus!’_ and fell sprawling to the floor. ‘How in the bloody seven hells–’ his tirade was cut short by Briggs’ magic-amplified voice calling the time. Rison, who had just managed to sit up, flopped back down with a groan. ‘Saved by the bell,’ Dwalin heard him mutter, and kept his shield up just in case – and snorted when he saw a stinging hex hit it at floor-level, sizzling into nothing.

‘Sore loser, are you?’

‘Can’t fault a bloke for trying.’ The Slytherin propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at him. His half-russet, half-greenish hair was sticking out at odd angles, and his face was flushed a bright pink. It made him look well-snogged. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘your win. Put that shield down before something goes permanently stiff.’

Dwalin waited for a beat, then let the charm dissolve, clumsily casting a _Finite Incantatem_ on his right arm, grimacing at the pins and needles when it began to thaw.

‘A free tip for your trouble,’ said Rison’s voice from behind him.

‘What?’

‘The Patronus Charm.’ Rison ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t fixed the colour yet, and Dwalin wasn’t about to tell him to. ‘They say, “think happy thoughts”, but they don’t say it needs to be the really good stuff.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I was thinking us snogging when I got the fox. Maybe you should try that too,’ he added with a wink.

‘Us snog– but we never did!’ But deny as he might, Dwalin already had an instant, and very detailed recollection of the hands gripping his robes, and the warm mouth against his, the taste of too-sweet tea.

‘Didn’t we? I remember different. Should we have another go, to refresh your memory?’ Rison stepped closer, a slow dangerous smile dawning on his face.

And Dwalin, he stayed rooted to where he stood, drawn towards the other against all his better judgment.

‘Oi, you two! Are you going to get on with it, or are you going to get out? Make up your mind before I lock you in here!’ Briggs was standing at the door, and Dwalin noticed with a start that they were the only ones left in the room.

‘Well?’ Rison asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. His eyes were bright, his freckled cheeks still held a touch of pink, and of all the ill-advised things Dwalin had ever wanted in his life he had never wanted anything quite as much as he now wanted that kiss. But Nori Rison was more trouble than he was worth; this was all just another game for him, and one Dwalin had no taste for. With a brief shake of his head, he turned and walked out the door.

‘Your loss!’ he heard a voice calling after him. He squeezed his hands into fists and kept walking.

Much later that night, Dwalin was sitting alone in the Gryffindor Common Room, gazing into the flames dancing in the fireplace.

It was easy for the likes of Nori Rison to speak glibly of good memories and happy thoughts. Because while they might be in the same year, they were not of age. Like Thorin, Dwalin had lost his first two years of formal schooling on the run from Death Eaters. He had missed History of Magic, Potions and Astronomy, but had learned spells of defence and concealment, subterfuge and silence.

He remembered the summer before his Hogwarts Letter, when they first went to ground, and how it had all felt like an neverending camping trip, more fun than dangerous. It had been him and Thorin and Frerin, and tiny Dis doggedly tagging along, and they had made the most of still being young enough not to qualify for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Balin had been with them for the first few weeks, and he’d let them all try out his wand. They’d had great fun with more or less successful attempts at Disillusionment Charm and _Silencio_.

In September, Balin had gone back to school, against the wishes of their parents, but he had insisted on completing his final year. Thinking back, Dwalin often wondered if his brother had already been with the Order then. He still didn’t know. They had spoken little of that time, afterwards.

During that first year, the sheen of adventure soon went dull. The year after, Dwalin would have been grateful for dull. That was the year when Dwalin had inherited his father’s wand, when no-one cared about underage magic anymore, when his mother and Balin had taught him to shield and block, and if necessary, to incapacitate; the year when they’d had to leave Thorin’s grandfather where he had fallen, when Dwalin had gone back with Thorin and his father afterwards, and still wished he could forget what they had found.

That was the year Frerin had died.

After all these years, Dwalin still could only remember that day in fits and starts, in confused fragments of sound and fury, like a jigsaw puzzle missing half of its pieces. They had been cornered, that much he knew. That he might have killed someone… maybe. They had gone down and not come back up. Dwalin had been twelve.

Frerin would have turned ten in a week. He had died screaming for his mother.

There were many things that haunted Dwalin’s dreams at night. And perhaps that was why his Patronus remained unformed; he had lost the happy thoughts needed to forge it into shape. Dwalin stared deep into the dwindling flickers of flame, his chest tight around a heavy weight of envy and helpless rage at people like Nori Rison, untouched by the war and too stupid to realize their good fortune.

Because surely, he thought, the little git had happier memories than stealing a kiss from Dwalin.


End file.
